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Ava leaned against the reception desk with a theatrical sigh. “Graham Wallace, animal whisperer and child therapist. Is there anything you can't do?”
“Furniture shopping, apparently,” Roxie added with a grin.
“Very funny,” I snarked.
The morning continued in a blur of nervous pet owners, escaped animals, and crying children. By noon, I'd helped wrangle three cats, two ferrets, and one particularly determined escape-artist rabbit. My respect for the veterinary staff had increased exponentially.
“I need to go out to my car,” Ava announced during a brief lull. “My phone charger died, and I've got a backup in the glove compartment.”
She returned five minutes later with her face pale and a manila envelope clutched in her hand.
“Graham.” Her voice cut through the waiting room chatter. “You need to see this.”
The envelope was addressed to Joy in the same cursive we'd seen before. My stomach dropped as Ava handed it over, her hands shaking.
“Where did you find this?”
“Under my windshield wiper.” Ava's hands shook slightly. “Someone put it there while we were working.”
I took the envelope from Ava's trembling hand. “Roxie, can Joy and I use your office?”
Roxie looked from the envelope to Joy's ashen face and nodded immediately. “Of course.”
I guided Joy through the maze of pet carriers and concerned owners, my hand on the small of her back. Roxie followed, closing the office door behind us.
“I want to open this without you seeing what's inside first,” I said.
“No.” Joy's voice was firm despite the fear in her eyes. “Whatever it is, we face it together.”
I wanted to argue, wanted to protect her from whatever sick message her stalker had sent this time. But the determination in her expression told me she wouldn't back down.
“Okay.” I tore open the envelope carefully, prepared for anything except what I actually found.
Photographs. Professional quality, taken with a telephoto lens. The first showed Joy kneeling in Miss Laverne's front garden, pruning roses with the afternoon sun catching the gold in her hair. She looked peaceful, unaware of the eyes watching her.
The second photo made my blood run cold. Joy in the clinic's back kennel area in the late afternoon sun, playing with one of the Dalmatians. The angle suggested it had been taken from the woods behind the building, someone hidden in the tree line with a clear view.
Both photos had writing across them in thick black marker: “You are such a Joy.”
“He's been watching me.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “At Miss Laverne's house. Here at work. How long has he been watching?”
Rage flooded my system, hot and immediate. This bastard had been stalking Joy, taking pictures of her like she was some kind of trophy. The violation of it made me want to put my fist through Roxie's office wall.
“Is the Dalmatian still here?”
“He went back to his owner two days ago. That picture had to have been taken last week.”
“We're leaving.” I stood abruptly, the photos crumpling in my grip. “Right now.”
“Graham—”
“No discussion. You can't stay here with all these strangers wandering around. It's not safe.”
Roxie immediately nodded. “Of course. I completely understand.”
“Joy, get your things. We're going home.”
The walk back to my truck felt like it took forever, every face in the crowd a potential threat. I kept Joy close, my arm around her shoulders as we navigated through the maze of parked cars.
